irony
by less.than.three.eti
Summary: ...when broken halves don't make a perfect fit. /AU


_Disclaimed._

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><p>She was tired, oh so very tired. She'd been walking the streets all night, running away from her thoughts and memories but in the end they still caught up, and she grew tired. It was 6AM now, still dark. Not many people were awake, just the occasional person or two making their way to the subway either to go to work, or headed home after a long night of partying.<p>

Her heels were clicking with every step she took and her dark coat wasn't doing much to actually keep her warm and safe from the biting cold. Looking around she realized she'd come to a part of town she'd never seen before. She didn't want to go home though because if she did she'd see the rest of his belongings and she would cry. She would cry because he left. She would cry because he left _her_ without saying a thing. He just waited until she slept and disappeared.

That had been two nights ago.  
>The first night she was alone she could not sleep. There was a tightness in her chest that gave her no rest. She was choking on her emotions and was being suffocated by everything his – by the clothes he'd left behind, by the dark curtains he'd insisted on, by his scent on their sheets.<br>The second night she roamed the streets.

As she was thinking about it, all of it, she passed a liquor store and found herself in need of a drink. Any kind of drink – no matter alcoholic or not. The night was slowly starting to dissipate, but the day wasn't coming either. It was grey, foggy, cloudy, cold, _surreal_. She sighed. Across the street an old woman was placing chairs and tables on the sidewalk. Karin squinted her eyes and made out the little sign 'Café' on the window of the little shop and, having nothing else to do, she made her way inside and ordered a black coffee. As she made her way out and sat herself on a table she thought of the liquid in her cup. She'd always hated black coffee. So what made her order one?

_'He used to drink it that way… '_ah, yes, that was the reason. Another, rather bitter, reminder that he was gone and there was no longer 'them'. Just her and him and the whole world which was in between. She took a small sip, savouring the bitter taste which she knew all too well – the taste of his kisses.

It was almost 7AM. She'd been sipping her drink for half an hour now and the sky was still gloomy, the air – cold. She took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, took one and put it between her (now faintly) red-painted lips, lighting it. She coughed a bit, but that was okay; she'd get used to it – just as he had. She inhaled deeply, feeling her lungs burning in need of air, and puffed a cloud of blue smoke. A raindrop hit the top of her head, another one – her dangling leg. She could feel the small drops hitting her body, sliding down her face and hair. She knew that if she cried now no one would see. But she didn't. When she was done smoking the first cigarette she lit up another one, raindrops soaking through its thin paper. She was still tired, exhausted even, from everything.

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><p>He was angry, furious even. But most of all he was afraid. Afraid of how easily he let himself go, how he cracked under the pressure, how he took his best friend down with him. And now he was paying the price. He made it out, got clean, but for Juugo there was no hope. And he blamed himself for this, because really, if he hadn't hooked him on that stuff he'd still be alive.<p>

He was also thankful. Thankful that he'd gained his old life back. Well sort of. He didn't have friends or family, and the closest thing he had to a home, a real home, was that little café two blocks down, with its old furniture and brick walls and the sweet aroma of coffee. Coffee was his new addiction. He'd go there every morning and help the owner, a sweet old lady, to open it, drink a coffee or five and act as a waiter if need be.

But still he couldn't act like a carefree teenager, couldn't find the strength in him to fly, so he was mad. Mad at himself for not trying hard enough. Mad at the others for not helping. Mad at the sky for not just taking him away.

This morning was a little darker than usual, a little gloomier, a bit more depressing not because of the rain, though. He just had this feeling, this tightening in his chest. He was late for helping Kaori-baa so his first thoughts were '_Did something happen to her?' _But it wasn't that. Once he came close enough to his 'work place' he saw a girl, sitting in the rain on the sidewalk café, half of her wet cigarette in the ash tray. Her dull red hair was sticking to her face, her clothes were getting drenched by the second, but she didn't seem to mind. She wasn't ugly, nor was she the most beautiful girl in the world, but the concept of her, smoking in the rain, drenched, seemingly torn,_ broken, _to him was perfection at its finest.

And when she lifted her gaze he was taken aback. Her blood-red eyes held a mix of emotions. They were so confusing but that's exactly what drew him to her, made him sit at her table. In the pouring rain. He felt the need to help her, fix her, _then break her all over again. _He had to break her heart just to help himself heal up.

"Look around you," he told her. She gave him a tired glance and took a drag from her cigarette. "there's angels amongst us."  
>"If you say so." Came her uninterested reply. But behind that mask of boredom he could feel her pain. "I'm just a lost soul trying to find a road that's paved." She added with a sigh. She threw the cigarette butt away and stood up to leave, taking all her broken beauty with her.<p>

In just a few moments she made him trip and get obsessed, so he followed. He wanted to see more of her hurt so he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her behind the liquor store, slamming her to the wall. In one swift moment his lips were on hers kissing her, bruising her. She tasted like coffee and despair and something else and when she kissed back he knew. He knew that 'something else' was love. But not for him – they had no ties, they were perfect strangers. He drank in her emotions and when he was full he ended the kiss and walked away. Just before turning the corner he looked at her – her hair a mess, her body shivering from the rain, or was she sobbing? And her eyes, her beautiful eyes were fixed on the big letters 'IRONY' tagged on the wall across from her.

Immediately he felt guilty, and then realization hit him – if he kept her around maybe she could heal him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd find her smile as pretty as her tears. So he took a step back and called out to her.

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><p>I got this idea while listening to a song called 'angelface'. You can see some lines scattered here and there.<br>It turned out rather...depressing xD


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